Fragmented Recall
by ThatUserOverThere
Summary: 'The whip cracked and he screamed. He could feel her eyes on him. Her stare didn't bother him. If anything, it felt comforting, familiar even.' A mysterious woman saves the Doctor at a slave market. As he recovers, pieces of his lost memories resurface. But before he can find out the truth, he must first play his part in a revolution led by his saviour. Post HoRS
1. A Cruel Regime

_I know I said I'll only publish something again in December or whatever. But I've studied myself stupid, I'm about to lose my sanity and I just can't student/adult at the moment. I just, can't even right now. So here's the first chapter of my new story :D_

 _Disclaimer: Doctor Who doesn't belong to me (sigh) and all mistakes are my own_.

* * *

Chapter 1: A Cruel Regime

The rays of the sun seared the barren earth, distorting the distant landscape. The vast, flat plain was silent, the burning wind of the previous day had died early in the morning. Water had burst forth from the sand, an oasis, a life saver, but the violent heat had drunk it up long ago, it's thirst unquenchable. What it left behind was an ocean of desolation, the basin of an evaporated sea.

Tired feet kicked up plumes of red dust, carrying guiltless souls enslaved by a cruel regime. Skin exposed to the sweltering sun grew tender and formed painful blisters, adding to their misery. Their hands were worn-out, calloused fists repeatedly rising in the air not as a sign of revolt or freedom, but only to bring the heavy tools back down against the black rocks.

For this is what innocence looked like. Day after day, mining for precious stones to give to vile tyrants in order to prolong their own lives long enough to repeat the process. Day after day. They hoped that tonight they might get some food again, being given just enough water to stay alive. Only just.

Innocent souls. Women and young children were sent to work in the homes and palaces, while men and older boys were scattered across the land, mining for riches they will never know. Poor souls. Only the wealthy could afford to stay free, living in luxury where resources were plentiful, taken for granted and often wasted.

The crack of a whip made everyone flinch, knowing their fate was the same unless they worked faster. The oldest among them stopped momentarily, blue-grey eyes glancing to the boy on his knees next to him. He saw the guard stepping closer, arm rising again. So, he moved between them, keeping his head bowed, and helped the boy up onto unsteady feet.

To the man's relief the guard backed away, letting his act of kindness slide today. Were it any other day he would have received a lash for his efforts as well. The boy nodded, silently thanking the man, both resuming their work.

Finally, the red sun sunk into the horizon, casting long shadows as the men made their way back to their camp. It was a long walk after a long day. The last stretch before they could get some rest. But the harsh day had taken its toll.

The man walked behind the boy, keeping an eye on him, hoping that they could make it back to the camp. The boy fell to his knees, attracting the attention of the guards beside them. Before the man could react, a guard shoved him towards the boy. It wasn't necessary, he would have helped him anyway. But he kept silent, knowing from past experience that his words only got him into trouble.

Being slaves their lives didn't mean much, but it grew costly when they had to be replaced, especially out here. Slave owners hated paying for new slaves too often, so they tried keeping them alive with as little as possible. At least they had somewhere to rest during the night.

A few concrete huts, each holding twenty-five prisoners, built solely to keep them alive a little longer. It was just enough to protect them from sandstorms during the cold nights. The camp was completed by a high fence surrounding them. Entirely redundant. Nothing to keep out and it's not like they would even try to escape.

The man had thought of many plans to overthrow the guards and even if they did work they still had one small problem. They were in the middle of a dessert. No transport, no idea even in what direction to go, no water. Surely they would perish within two days of escaping and that's talking about the younger, healthier men.

Ironically, inside the fence they had some degree of freedom for the guards had their own camp, undoubtedly with better living arrangements. The guards. Cruel beings covered top to bottom in dark grey armour, probably fitted with some sort of cooling system to withstand the unbearable heat easily.

Every guard also had a whip, used to control them or rather 'encourage' them to continue their work. If you stopped working for just a second to rest your weary body the whip would crack behind you until you resumed your work. Any challenge to authority, any retort and you were chained to a pole. The flesh on your back torn apart with five or often more lashes, depending on how generous the guards were. To make things worse, you were left there for the rest of the day, the brutal sun burning the sore wounds.

The man helped the boy into their hut, letting him rest on his own bunk on the bottom. When he first arrived here, brought in after being sold at the slave market, the boy had already been here for weeks. That was three months ago. People didn't last long in these camps. He had seen many who were taken away again, no longer able to work.

He stayed with the boy until their food arrived, leaving to retrieve it. No meat tonight, not even bread. Just a small amount of cold, watery soup. He helped the boy drink the flavourless liquid, giving him his own portion as well. He himself could probably go another day or two without food, he hoped.

Sparing some of his water, the man gently tried cleaning the fresh gash over the boy's shoulder. Luckily the boy was fast asleep now, unable to feel the sting of the water as he worked. There was only so much he could do. He hated feeling helpless, hands tied when others needed help.

The day's exhaustion crept over the man. He stood, stretched his stiff back and struggled onto the top bunk, his legs shaking from the strain. The boy had been kind enough to trade bunks with him when he arrived and he was grateful, knowing that there were some days he wouldn't have been able to get up here. How the boy managed, he didn't know.

Resting his head on the thin, sorry excuse for a mattress, his eyes drifted shut. Within minutes, he felt the black void of sleep wash over him, the only escape every prisoner here had.

* * *

The pain in his neck and shoulders woke him. Groaning as he clambered down he immediately turned his attention to the bottom bunk, hearts sinking when he found it empty.

"No," he croaked, voice barely a whisper as he stared at the empty space.

The guards must have seen the boy didn't have much time left and took him away during the night. He expected something like this to happen, yet he still felt the pang of guilt of not helping. He had lost. A young boy, a slave and he had lost him. He hated losing, he hated losing people. They didn't share much, him and the boy, but he had grown to care for him and now he was gone.

Not once during the following days did he look up. It wasn't strength he had suddenly found that powered him. No, it was guilt and shame. He couldn't help even one of these people. Not even the boy.

He cracked open another black rock, seeing the shimmer of the precious stones embedded inside. Anger too. He hated this place. He couldn't do anything for them. How could he call himself the Doctor if he couldn't help those in need?

He lifted the pickaxe above his head again, swaying under its weight. He couldn't remember the last time he had a meal. A proper meal.

Punishing himself by working nonstop the last couple days was a poor decision. Destructive even. His shredded shirt clung to him, sweat staining the once crisp white material further.

His vision blurred and his breath left him, unable to get it back. He felt the guard's eyes on him, expecting the crack of a whip any second now. If there was one, he didn't hear it and didn't feel it.

He stumbled, the pickaxe landing by his side. He fell forward, into the dark abyss, eyes closing as the red dust around him settled.

* * *

 _I wrote this whilst listening to an extended version of Lily's Theme from Harry Potter 7 Part2... Yeah..._

 _Anyway, reviews are much appreciated. Oh, and my exams start next week so I'll only update, at the earliest, end November (I'm serious, I don't want to fail anything)_


	2. Sold

_Thanks so much for the reviews!_

 _I am done with my exams, just waiting for my results *starts crying*_

 _On with the chapter!_

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Chapter 2: Sold

He gradually became aware of the hard surface beneath him. Smooth, no sand. He wasn't in the desert anymore, which meant he was back at the slave market. Again.

Groaning, he rolled on to his front, his bound wrists making every position more uncomfortable. Everything hurt. His head was pounding, mouth bone dry and unable to relieve his scratchy throat. His body complained as he pushed himself onto his elbows.

Opening his eyes, he confirmed that he was indeed back at the slave market. In the underground holding area to be exact. Waiting to be taken to the surface and sold.

He managed to drag himself to the far side of his cell, struggling to sit up against it. Head rolling back and swallowing hard, he rubbed his burning wrists where the metal had dug into his flesh. He could get out of the cuffs and escape, but he wouldn't be able to get far in his current state.

 _The lock clicked and he smirked. When will people learn, these old mechanical locks can be picked?_

 _He looked down the hall, careful not let himself be seen. Luckily the only guard he could spot was turning the corner at the end of the hall._

 _Trying to make as little noise as possible, he scurried out the door and down the hall, past the other cells. He glanced at the people in the cells, most not even conscious to acknowledge him. Those who were just looked at him with blank expressions. Hopelessness. He hated it. Maybe he could do something for them, but first he had to get out of here._

 _Rounding the corner at the end of the hall he was suddenly jerked back by the collar of his shirt, grunting as he was thrown to the floor. Before he could react, he felt the cuffs slide over his wrists again._

 _"Easy," he hissed as the guard tightened the cuffs to a painful level._

 _Another guard grabbed the chain and hauled him up. They stayed behind him, leading him back to his cell with a firm grip on his shoulder._

 _"Oh, what a novel idea. Lock me in the same cell I just escaped from. No way I won't be able to break out again," he said over his shoulder. Will these people never learn?_

 _The guard pushed him in and he turned, glaring at him. But instead of leaving him the guard took hold of his arms and brought them up, looping the chain between his wrists over a hook sticking out of the wall._

 _"Ah, I see. Extra precautions. Now I definitely won't be able to escape." Facing the wall now, he rolled his eyes. He rattled the chain against the hook. Just what is the purpose? It's not like he could be suspended from it, the thing was eye-level._

 _There was a crack and he grunted, bending over slightly at the impact. His coat protected him from the worst but he still felt it. Another crack. He was being punished for trying to escape. Another crack. It was really starting to sting now. It couldn't have gone through his coat that fast, not an ordinary whip. Another crack. And another._

 _His heavy breathing was interrupted by the crack of the whip, his scream filling the air. He had lost count some time ago. His arms were tired, stretched out above his head, holding him up after his legs had given out. So, that's what the hook is for. Keeps you upright when you can't stand anymore so the guards can continue with the punishment._

 _He waited, bracing himself for another blow. It never came though. Hopefully the guard had left him alone now. He needed time to heal. The torn skin on his back burned like fire. He was trembling, the shackles digging into his wrists._

 _One thing was certain; he was not going to try escape any time soon._

Even if he did manage to get out of his cell, he had no desire to relive that episode. Ordinary whips don't do that much damage. It's used mostly to inflict fear with the loud cracking noise and a bit of a sting where it hit you. On this planet though, the whip had been perfected into a weapon capable of tearing through clothes and ripping apart flesh.

Somewhere down the hall people shouted, probably newcomers, he paid them no attention. He felt himself drift off again, not quite reaching the blissful stage of sleep.

Someone was watching him. He could feel it. Was there someone else with him in the cell? Could be, however he didn't hear anyone entering. Could be a guard outside, trying to determine if he was dead, or maybe how long he had left. No. He knew the feeling of a guard's eyes on him, it was unsettling, punishment looming not far away. This was different.

He swallowed, letting out a breath of air. He was curious now. He wanted to know. He slowly opened his eyes a crack, finding no one outside and an empty cell across his. _Great._ He's so dehydrated he's imagining things now. He sighed, sleep finally taking him.

* * *

His eyes flew open as the icy water hit him, sending jolts through his body. A pair of hands grabbed him, hauling him up and out of the cell. He stumbled confusedly as the guard pushed him, grabbing him by his tattered shirt to guide him.

He was led down the hall and around the corner then down that hall as well. The guard held him upright as he stumbled again.

His legs couldn't even carry him anymore yet he was on his way to be sold as a slave. What happened to slaves that nobody bought? Were they kept in the cells? Executed? He didn't want to know but he had the suspicion he was going to find out today.

They walked through a dark tunnel, the outside light filtering in around the edges of the door up ahead. Why go through all this trouble? Anyone can see that he'd make a pathetic worker in his current state.

Reaching the door, he stopped, leaning against the wall as the guard moved around him to enter the access code. The terminal beeped and the guard opened the door. The Doctor blinked against the sharp light, his head pounding again.

The hand on his arm pulled him out, the heat hitting him like a wall. Squinting, he followed the guard to a clearing between all the stands. Around them people argued, negotiating prices and trading goods.

From what he's seen this 'market' was only for slave traders. It was outside the city, making it easier in terms of transporting slaves since the work camps were far from the city. He didn't know where the women and younger children were. Probably somewhere in the city itself.

The guard pushed him towards the line of slaves being inspected by the traders. He took his place between two men, much younger and in better condition than himself. Keeping his head low he focused on keeping himself upright. He was exhausted, swaying in the direct heat of the sun.

Traders passed him, dismissing him quickly, knowing they'll only waste their money on him. At least he wasn't inspected like the previous times. He hated it. He valued his privacy and couldn't stand people poking and prodding him like he was some animal on show.

Normally he could handle the heat, now it drained what little energy he had left even faster. The edges of his vision darkened. No, not here. He couldn't pass out now, not here. He trembled, trying to fight it off. His legs buckled and he fell to his hands and knees, eyes shut. The guards aren't going to be happy.

They weren't. He was lifted up and almost thrown in the direction of a wooden post sticking up out of the sand. _Not this._ This is going to be the death of him.

He leant against the post as the guard looped his chains over the hook. His eyes wandered over the faces in the crowd. A few were watching him, perhaps it was their entertainment. One face caught his attention. A woman, standing to his left at the edge of the clearing. She looked almost scared. Scared for him?

Dread settled in his stomach. If he survived this, it won't be for long. The whip cracked and he screamed, his tattered shirt offering no protection. He held his breath waiting for the next lash.

The single tip of the whip made contact with his skin and he cried out, his eyes shut tightly as if it will keep out the pain. He could feel her eyes on him. Unable to support his weight any longer, he collapsed, held up only by his chains. The lashes didn't stop.

Eventually the pain faded. The noises around him blended together, his own cries dying down to mere gasps. He was done. She was still staring, he knew. It didn't bother him. If anything, it felt comforting, familiar even. He let out a breath. The pain, the exhaustion, it was all too much for his body to handle, even with his superior Time Lord physique.

He went limp, sagging against the post. The guard didn't seem to care, lifting his whip to strike.

"Killing someone's slave is punishable by death."

The guard stopped, turning to face who had interrupted him. A woman, glaring at him until he lowered his whip. He glanced at the slaver behind her, seeing him nod once. He walked to the post, unhooked the chain and let the Doctor fall on his side then took in his position behind the other slaves.

"Be careful with him," the woman said to two men by her side. They made their way over to the Doctor, lifting him out of the hot sand. Her eyes didn't leave him.

* * *

 _That's enough hurt without comfort for a while..._


	3. Lady Lioma

_Thanks so much for the reviews!_

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Chapter 3: Lady Lioma

"I'll take it from here, thank you, Alton." She picked up a clean cloth from the table and waited for him to step aside.

Alton looked up at her. She'd help him sometimes, but she's never dismissed him before. He looked at the man on the bed then back at her, nodded and left the room.

She took a seat next to the bed. Her eyes drifted over the broken figure before her.

He was on his stomach. Not ideal for his laboured breathing but she didn't want him rolling over onto his back and upsetting the open wounds further. The whips the guards used against people were horrible.

The slaver at first thought she was joking when she said she wanted to buy the man. Why would anyone want to waste their money on a slave who was about to die? Luckily, when the slaver realised who she was he gladly took her money.

"I'm sorry, but this is probably going to hurt," she whispered before gently starting to clean the wounds.

The man groaned, a frown appearing as she worked to get all the sand, dirt and old blood out of the cuts. She worked as fast she could, trying not to cause him any more unnecessary pain. He flinched as she cleaned out a particularly deep cut. She had to get all the dirt out, she didn't want the cuts to become infected.

She took a clean cloth, using it to wipe the dust from his face. His frown had disappeared and it seemed that he was finally getting some much-needed rest.

She opened a small tub, dipping her fingers in the white cream. Carefully she applied a thick layer of the cream onto his back, making sure to cover all the cuts. It should speed up the healing process and keep the skin from drying out so he doesn't open the wounds once he starts moving about. As a bonus, it also numbed the area a bit.

When she was done, she checked the needle at the back of his right hand. He was dangerously dehydrated and undernourished. They had put him on some fluids as they were transporting him here to start replenishing his strength.

She pulled a thin blanket over him up to his waist, not letting it near the cuts. Satisfied that she's done all she could now, she left him.

* * *

For once it didn't feel like he was on the floor or out in the open. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he was so comfortable. Except, the pain. That was still there, but it was bearable. And he was still tired. His head was also still hurting. And there was an itch on his hand. But at least he was lying on something soft for once.

He opened his eyes a crack. Everything was blurry, swimming around him and morphing into everything else. He didn't like it. Made him seasick. Blinking a couple of times separated the objects and sent them to their right places. He still couldn't make out much. Tt was dark and his eyes struggled to focus.

Looking up, the only thing he could make out was his hand a few inches away from his face. Blinking again he saw a needle sticking out of the back of his hand. That explains the itch. If only he could…

He struggled with his left hand until his fumbling fingers could reach the place where the needle pierced his skin. Just as he was about to scratch, a soft hand closed around his and moved it away from the needle.

"Don't."

That voice. He's heard it before. He looked at the hand holding his. So small and soft. Why wasn't he pulling away? Because he suddenly just didn't have the strength and energy to. His eyelids felt like lead too, she must have sedated him. Or maybe, maybe he didn't want to pull away.

No, it was the sedative. How could he move his hand if he couldn't even keep his eyes open? Though looking at her delicate fingers on his he couldn't help but think that it felt nice. Then again, that was most likely the sedative talking.

* * *

The last light of the day filtered in through the windows at the opposite side of the room and made its way onto him where he was lying on his side, piercing harshly through his eyelids. Groaning, he tried burying his head deeper into the pillow.

Glaring at the windows, he pushed himself up onto his right elbow. His was sore all over, but nothing was worse than the headache hammering against his skull. He let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Drink this."

He opened his eyes to see a cup held out towards him. He blinked, looking up to see a woman holding the cup.

Big brown eyes, funnily shaped nose and a kind smile on an oddly wide, almost round face with brown, shoulder length hair. A normal looking woman. So why did he have a weird feeling about her? He couldn't describe it, there was just something about her.

She shifted, suddenly looking a bit nervous, her smile fading. He must have been staring.

"It will help, for the headache." She held the cup closer to him.

Reluctantly, he took the cup, eyeing the clear green liquid. It seemed harmless enough. He took a sip, his face twisting as he swallowed the bitter drink.

"Silvertip, or Bitterweed. Awful taste, but it works wonders on headaches." She watched him sit up. The fluids they gave him definitely sped up his recovery, though he was far from healthy.

"Who are you?" He croaked.

"I'm known around here as Lady Lioma, but you can just call me Lioma. And before you ask," she said when he opened his mouth, "you're in the Red Desert, on my land. You're safe here."

She stood, taking the empty cup from him.

"You're the Doctor, yeah?"

He nodded, looking at her questioningly. Did she know him? Did he know her? He could have forgotten. He forgets people all the time, sometimes even deliberately.

She shrugged. "I travelled, heard stories. Anyway, the bathroom is through that door if you want to clean yourself up. There are clean clothes too. I'll come back in a while to check on that back of yours."

After she left he gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He pushed himself off the bed onto unsteady legs. Luckily it wasn't far to the bathroom and he managed to stagger over there without falling.

He knew he wasn't in good shape, but the mirror showed him exactly how he looked. He stared at his reflection. The first thing he noticed was how thin he was. His lean body had grown gaunt and haggard. Then there's the bags underneath his dull eyes, the unkempt hair and scraggly beard. He was covered in dust and bruises and when he turned he saw the damage to his back. Deep, angry cuts streaked across his back among older scars.

He couldn't remember when was the last time he had a shower. Even though the water stung his injuries, it felt good to get rid of the dust and grime. When he got out, he made quick work of shaving his beard with a straight razor and after going through the cabinets he found a pair of scissors to take care of his hair.

He put on the light brown trousers and laced up the boots. Thankfully the white, long sleeved shirt was soft and loose fitting so as not to disturb his injuries.

"How's the headache?" Lioma asked him when he came out.

With the shower and clean clothes, he felt a lot better than when he woke up. He hadn't even realised the headache had disappeared.

"Gone."

"Good. Now, take off your shirt so I can fix those cuts." She motioned for him to take a seat next to her on the bed.

He pulled the shirt over his head and sat down, somehow knowing that arguing won't work. She looked like she could be quite bossy. That and, he wouldn't admit it but, the pain in his back was starting to flare up again.

She worked silently, covering each piece of gauze with a layer of cream before laying it on his back. She apologised each time he hissed as the cool cream came in contact with the deepest cuts.

Her arms brushed against his sides as she wrapped the bandage around his upper body, securing the gauze to his skin.

As she was finishing off, he turned towards her, a frown on his face.

"Why are you helping me?" He asked quietly.

She looked at him like the answer was obvious, but quickly changed it to a soft smile. She tucked the end of the bandage in, her hand lingering on his shoulder.

"Think of me as a carer."

 _"I'm his carer."_

 _"Yeah, my carer. She cares so I don't have to."_

She stopped talking when she noticed his unfocused distant stare and furrowed brow.

"Doctor? Are you alright?"

He jerked, looking into her questioning eyes.

"I'm fine, I just…" he looked away, frown deepening. What happened?

"Yeah?" She waited for him to continue.

He shook his head, blinking.

"Nothing," he whispered.

She stood, offering him a smile.

"You're still tired. Eat and then get some rest. We can talk again tomorrow." She handed him a bowl then left.

He looked at the bowl. Soup. At least it looked tastier than what they got in the camps. He took a spoonful. It did taste better.

Maybe he should get some rest too. He wasn't keen on hearing voices again. It didn't help that he couldn't remember what they said.

* * *

 _If you want the Doctor to remember a specific moment with Clara (preferably Twelve and Clara) just let me know and I'll try and incorporate it. As it is I don't remember every moment (there are so many) so I'll appreciate help ;)_

 _I'm going on vacation for the next two weeks. I'll probably keep on writing, but I don't think there will be WiFi for me to post a chapter._

 _Oh, Lioma might be Clara she might be an echo, or she might be someone else entirely... I'm not saying just yet :D_


	4. Questions in the Night

_Sorry this took so long, no matter what I just couldn't get this chapter right. I'm still not really happy with it, but it can't be left unpublished forever._  


* * *

Chapter 4: Questions in the Night

The Doctor looked around the dark room. Nothing out of the ordinary. The bed he was currently sitting on, bedside table, a chair and dresser. Not really anything to keep him occupied.

He made his way to the window, looking through his faint reflection to the endless dark outside. The deep and lovely dark. His eyes focused closer, staring into those of his reflection as his thoughts wandered.

Why would someone go through all the trouble of saving him? Why go through the effort to get him back on his feet? From what he's seen of the richer folk they're not exactly charitable or even remotely friendly towards slaves. So why was Lioma?

His eyes drifted to the door. He could ask her. Maybe even have a look around while he's searching for her. Find a way out. Not that he felt he was in danger here, but something wasn't quite right about this place. About Lioma.

Everything was quiet out in the hall. Well he didn't expect people running around. Perhaps a guard standing watch. He looked up and down the hall before deciding on going right.

This building, this house, it reminded him of Victorian London. Of Vastra and Jenny, even Strax. Oh, what he'd give to be in the company of a familiar face right now.

He halted in front of a door. Should he? He didn't have anything to lose. He looked around then opened the door a crack, poking his head through.

The light from the door was faint, barely illuminating the dark room. However, it was enough to reveal the man lying on the bed, his scarred back to the door.

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

The Doctor closed the door as he turned. Lioma was right behind him, arms crossed.

"What is this place?"

"It's my house," she said simply.

He frowned.

"And the slaves?"

"Workers," she corrected him. "See now and then I take those in who can't go on anymore. Or I try to. I can't always get everyone."

He stepped towards her, looking down at her.

"Why? Why go through all that trouble? Why bother with the weak? I'm sure you'll get more done with healthier slaves."

She took a step towards him, eyebrow raised.

"Because I'm not a slaver," she said quietly.

She was close to him, almost too close. He shifted his weight under her gaze.

"Then what are you?" His voice was a whisper.

She smiled at him and motioned for him to follow her down the hall.

"I told you this earlier, but seeing as you zoned out-"

"I didn't zone out," he snapped.

"Oh?" She glanced at him. "Then why can't you remember?"

He furrowed his brow. Why couldn't he? He knew he heard two people. Himself and a woman, talking. Though he couldn't remember what she said or what she sounded like.

"You're doing it again."

He looked at Lioma standing in front of him.

"I was… thinking."

Lioma regarded him, then walked on. He followed her around a corner and down a hall with windows on their right. He glanced at their reflections in the window, the light in the hall making it impossible to see beyond the dark.

"As I told you earlier, I take in those who don't have the strength to continue. I take care of them, I help them get their strength back. When they're ready-"

"You make them work for you," he growled.

"You know you really should stop interrupting people. No, I don't _make_ them work for me. These people have nowhere to go, so I employ them. They work _for_ me and in exchange I provide them with food, a warm bed and medicine if they should need it."

"And what work do they do?"

Lioma stopped in front of a large window, behind her stairs led down towards what looked like the second floor of the house. The Doctor kept his distance, his eyes on her.

"At this stage, they mine. I use the money to keep everything running, supplies, buy more men from the slavers."

He inched forward, averting his gaze to the dark sand dunes outside. "You're not telling me everything."

She nodded. "Some of the men are busy excavating old collapsed tunnels. The tunnels lead into the city. Or rather, they lead from the city out to the desert. Could be an old sewer system or maintenance tunnels."

"So?"

"So, those tunnels can give us access to almost any place within the city without having to go through the gates of down the streets. If you're planning on overthrowing the rich and powerful I'd say the element of surprise would count in your favour."

Of course. The slaves outnumber the guards greatly. If you were to put together an army people would notice and start asking questions. But buying slaves like everyone else, no suspicions are raised. You just have to get them nice and strong and you'll have loyal, determined fighters. No one would expect it.

"Hold on." She turned to him. "Why are you telling me this?" He had a feeling this was going somewhere and if that somewhere was another mine or a dark tunnel…

"How familiar are you with energy weapons?"

His head shot around to her.

"No, I'm not going to start shooting and killing people for the sake of your revolution," he said quickly.

"And I'm not asking you to." He eyed her suspiciously. "Energy weapons are not allowed outside the city walls in case there's an uprising. It took me a while, but I finally managed to procure a few crates of rifles. Thing is, not all are in working order and no one here have been able to fix them."

"I might not be the one pulling the trigger, but if I fix those guns I'll be responsible for every death none the less." He turned and started down the stairs. "I can't help you."

"Where will you go?" She asked calmly.

"Away."

"You don't have a ship," she called before he could reach the last step.

Right. His TARDIS was taken from him, locked away somewhere. He couldn't get to the city on his own, he didn't even know in what direction to start walking. And even if he did get to the city and tracked down his TARDIS, he didn't think they would be as considerate as the first time he showed up. They probably won't even hesitate to shoot him on the spot. He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"We only need the weapons to stun the guards. Help us and we'll help you find your ship."

He turned, climbing the stairs slowly.

"Rebelling against those who beat you half to death every other day. Oh yeah, your workers will only stun the guards." He grimaced as he pushed past her. The pain was returning.

"Are you OK?" Lioma asked gently.

 _"Are you OK?"_

 _"No. I'm an amnesiac robbing a bank, why would I be OK?"_

They robbed a bank. Not just any bank, the Bank of Karabraxos. He and… someone.

"You're not fully recovered yet. You need to rest." With her hand on his shoulder she led him back to his room.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, trying to shake off her hand. However, the pain in his head and back made his attempt feeble.

She opened the door to his room and made him sit down on the bed. Then she disappeared. He massaged his temples, trying to ease the dull throbbing pain. It just came out of nowhere.

"Drink," Lioma said, offering him a cup.

She was quick. He looked at the green liquid. Not that Bitterweed again.

"Really, I'm fine," he protested.

"Do as you are told," she said sternly.

 _"Just do it, Doctor. Do as you are told."_

 _"Typical officer. Got to keep those hands clean."_

A graveyard. All those Cybermen. She had wanted his sonic. Why?

The pain increased and he groaned, shutting his eyes. He felt Lioma shove the cup into his hands and he brought it to his mouth, drinking the bitter liquid in one go.

His breathing calmed and his scowl softened. He seemed tired, the sedative she had mixed with the Bitterweed already taking affect. She took the cup and helped him lie down, waiting until he was asleep before leaving his room.

He might not admit it, but it was clear he was still weak and he needed rest. He needed her, and she was determined to help him.

* * *

 _If things seem disjointed or pointless, I have a reason, it will be explained later on. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long and will be better :/_

 _As for the guest who said the Doctor should remember "that very hot corridor scene in Mummy on The Orient Express"... Teeheehee... If you want other memories to be remembered, ask and I'll see if it'll work. Oh, thanks for the reviews!_


	5. Fragments

_Thanks so much for the reviews and memories!_

* * *

Chapter 5: Fragments

 _"Just do it, Doctor. Do as you are told."_

He didn't want to, she was going to use it on one of the Cybermen. Yet, he reached into his pocket and gave her his screwdriver.

 _"Typical officer. Got to keep those hands clean," the Cyberman said._

No, not yet a Cyberman. That PE teacher. She was going to use his screwdriver to help him… activate that thing in his chest. Why would she do that? Did she care about the Cyberman, PE teacher? He just turned and walked away from them.

 _"Just point and think, yeah?"_

 _"Yes," he uttered, his back to her._

 _"Okay. I wasn't very good at it, but I did love you."_

He gasped, the pain was just too much. He bent forwards, holding his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the pain. His hair was damp and his forehead glistened with sweat. But that last thing she said. He felt the pain of that in his chest. A strange sort of pain. Jealousy? Why would he be jealous? He massaged his temples.

Every time. Every time he tried to remember the pain would intensify, trying to hold him back. Like something didn't want him to remember. He could see the graveyard, the Cybermen, but not her. It was like the spot where she was standing had been ripped out. Like ripping out the centre piece of a paper, leaving a hole. There was just nothing there. He could hear her, but the moment she spoke he forgot what she sounded like and when he tried playing it back he heard his own voice. That little voice in his head that was also telling him that he should just stop, that it wasn't good for him.

It was extremely frustrating.

He sighed and stood. The pain was bearable. A dull throbbing at the back of his head. He could live with it. Besides, he had to get off this planet and to do that he needed his TARDIS. Perhaps he could just tinker with the weapons and stay here while they rebelled.

The sun was already high above the horizon, scorching the outside world when he had woken up and he had spent the last hour or so trying to get useful information out of his wrecked memory. He quickly washed and dried his face before heading out to find Lioma.

* * *

"You haven't exactly told me how you know me," he said.

Lioma glanced at him then refocused on tending to the little green and silver plants before her. He had finally found her outside, at the back of the house in a garden.

A beautiful garden with tall trees casting cool shade over the soft grass. It stretched far, the trees obscuring his view but he knew there had to be a water source close by to sustain it all. The lush green was unexpected, a sight that hasn't graced his eyes in a long time. He's been surrounded by dead seas of sand for so long he had dismissed the thought of an oasis in this desert ages ago. What better place to build a house in the desert than next to an oasis?

"I did tell you. I travelled, talked to people, listened to the stories they had to tell." She smiled coyly at him. "Some stories can travel vast distances, even across time."

A frown played across his features. "I take it these stories came with descriptions as well, because it still doesn't explain how you knew who I am." He cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

She cleaned her hands on a rag and stood, then turned towards him.

"It's your eyes," she began, speaking slowly. "Eyes that have seen the stars and wonders. Eyes that know pain and suffering far beyond this planet. Ancient eyes that had their fire doused by circumstances, and yet a glimmer of hope still remained." She smiled at him.

 _A sad smile._

 _"You're doing it again."_

 _"Doing what?"_

 _"The smile."_

 _"Yeah, I'm smiling."_

 _"It's the sad smile. It's a smile, but you're sad. It's confusing, it's like two emotions at once. It's like you're malfunctioning."_

He winced at the pain in his head. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as the previous day, but it was proving to be quite an inconvenience.

"The headache isn't going away, is it?" Lioma plucked a few leaves from the little plants behind her and held them out to him.

He looked at her expectantly. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Bitterweed leaves. When the pain gets worse, pop one in your mouth and chew it."

He really didn't want to. Then again, he was getting tired of the headache. He took one and examined it, quickly shoving it into his mouth when he saw Lioma's glare. As he chewed he pulled a face when the bitter juices got released. It worked though. Within seconds the headache was almost completely gone leaving him with a tightness in his chest the newly remembered words had brought.

"Take these too, in case it comes back," she handed him the rest.

He reluctantly took them and stuffed them in his pocket, mumbling his thanks.

"Now, about those weapons…" he wanted to get it over with.

"Later. It'll still be a few days before we need them. Just take it easy for now. Rest, get better."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

She narrowed her eyes at him, shook her head and moved past him.

His eyes wandered over the greenery a moment more, marvelling at the abundance of plant life. Perhaps this desert wasn't just a place of death.

* * *

"This came for you."

The Doctor looked up to see a man handing a small parcel to Lioma. With his short grey hair and scowl the man didn't look very approachable. Or even young. He never was good at guessing people's age. The man merely glanced at him when he walked out of the room.

"That was Alton. First one I took in. He helps a lot with taking care of the others."

The Doctor inspected the bookcase next to him as he spoke. "I imagine he has a wonderful bedside manner."

"Doesn't really have one, but he's a good man," she mumbled while opening the parcel.

His fingers traced over the spines of the books, murmuring, "Am I a good man?"

"I'm sorry?"

He looked questioningly over his shoulder, Lioma mirroring his expression.

"Did you say something?"

"No," he said, turning back to the bookcase. Had he really said that out loud? Curious.

 _"I don't know."_

He waited for the pain to flare up again. It didn't. The leaves must still be working then. Perhaps he could, try to remember more. _Am I a good man._ He let his thoughts circle around those words.

 _"I need something from you. I need the truth."_

 _"Okay. Right, what is it? What's… You're scared."_

 _"I'm terrified."_

They were in the TARDIS. She was there with him, sitting on the console steps. He really was scared.

 _"… be my pal and tell me, am I a good man?"_

 _"I don't know."_

He was terrified of that. Even more so when that Dalek told him that he had hatred in him. It terrified him, because it's true. He couldn't deny it. He was no longer scared though. She had made him think differently about it.

 _"I don't know. But I think you try to be, and I think that's probably the point."_

Those words made him smile. Then and now.

 _"I think you're probably an amazing teacher."_

"You alright, Doctor? You look a bit-"

"She was a teacher," he said quietly. He didn't know that. Or he did, he had just forgotten. He smiled, trying to imagine her teaching a class. Did she like teaching? What subject did she give? Did her students like her? Did he ever see her teach?

Lioma stood next to him, frowning. "Who?"

His smile faded. Exactly. He didn't know. Little pieces of information. Fragments. Yet not even a face or a name to go with it. He felt empty. Despondent. No matter how hard he tried to remember her, how hard he tried imagining her, nothing came.

"What's troubling you?" She stepped closer to him, moving to put her hand on his shoulder.

"No, no. Not the hugging!" He jumped away from her.

She stood still, looking baffled, arm in the air. He could only stare at her with wide, bewildered eyes. He had absolutely no idea why he did that.

* * *

 _I just realized, it is entirely possible that I am making him lose his mind... I believe I should start incorporating season 9 memories as well._


	6. Ruminations of a Mad Man

_Hi everyone, thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry about the wait, I'm a bit busy._

* * *

Chapter 6: Ruminations of a Mad Man

"Not the hugging?" He paced in front of the window in his room. The sun hung low above the horizon, another day almost at an end. "Where did that come from?" She didn't hug him, she probably wasn't even going to. Why would she even want to? "So why did I say that?" It just slipped out and then he rushed past her and sort of ran to his room.

"To be fair, she did kind of move suddenly," he defended himself, stopping to glare at his reflection. He looked a little better than when he got here. Only a little. "Look at you. You're being paranoid." He continued his pacing, arms flapping about. "You keep hearing things, even seeing things here and there. Now your imagination ran off and left you looking like a mad man in front of people."

He slowed his frantic pacing. It wasn't just _things_ he heard. It wasn't just voices. They were memories. His memories of _her_. He frowned. Why was she so special? They obviously travelled together. He travelled with many people over the years. He didn't forget them. Sure, he might have locked some of the memories away deep in the recesses of his mind, but he could easily access them whenever he wanted. Yet the only memories he had of her was what he had remembered these past days.

Either something very bad happened and he couldn't handle it so he buried everything far away, or his memories were taken from him. If he knew what happened maybe it would make remembering easier. But if he himself had repressed them with good reason, did he really want to know? What if it was too much? No, he had to know.

"What happened?" he whispered. "Why can't I remember?" He sat down on the edge of his bed. He stared at his interlaced fingers in his lap, frowning. _Wrong question._ "What then?" He thought about the past few days.

"Why did I remember? What triggered the memories?" Something had to trigger the memories, they didn't just show up whenever they wanted to. "Words," he muttered. Could something as simple as a word trigger it all? It definitely triggered some it. He spoke softly, "Do as you are told, a good man…"

His eyes widened. "Actions," he began excitedly. Actions also triggered the relevant memories. "A sad smile, the hug." He shook his head, "It wasn't a hug." But he had thought it was and he had still remembered her hugging him.

He sighed. There's something he's missing. And not just his memories. He's overlooking something, something very important. But what?

"Not the hugging…" he mumbled. So far, he almost automatically remembered more than just one sentence. No, not true. He had to help his mind along with the last one, the one where he asked her if he was a good man. If he was going to find out who she was he should try to remember as much as he can. Couldn't hurt. Actually, it could. He reached into his pocket and took out one of the leaves, holding it close just in case.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Just concentrate on the words like before. Simple. He exhaled.

 _The soft orange glow of the TARDIS interior. He was bent over the console. He looked to his side, spotting that distinctive nothingness where she stood. It, no she, moved closer to him. She was right next to him now._

 _Suddenly she leaped forward. He could feel her arms wrapped tightly around him. It caught him off guard and he tried to free himself, but she clung._

 _"No, no, not the hugging. I'm against the hugging, please."_

He could still feel her against him. He didn't really like physical contact. But this… It actually felt kind of… nice. A warm, tingling sensation spread through his chest. Was it the only time she had hugged him?

 _She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. He put his hand over her arm, holding it to him as a small smile crept over his face._

He blinked, realising his arms were folded, hugging his chest. He felt strange. There was that wonderful warmth spreading through him, making him smile. And at the same time a terrible heaviness weighed down his hearts.

He rubbed his arms. He didn't like physical contact, but he tolerated her hugging him. No, he _enjoyed_ it. He smirked. He must've really liked her. He liked it when she hugged him. He liked being near her,

 _"Take my hand."_

 _"I'm not scared."_

 _"I am."_

Even just holding her hand. He could feel the warmth of her small hand in his. Skin so soft and smooth. Holding his hand tightly as they ran from monsters and other dangers. Did they do that a lot? He smiled once more. With him around, most likely. They probably always ended up running, adrenaline pumping through their veins, making them feel alive.

Then his smile turned sad. The emptiness returned, his shoulders sagging. He knew all the memories weren't happy. He knew there was pain underneath them, maybe even loss. He had lost her somehow. Something happened that she wasn't with him anymore.

 _Her hands were around him, brushing the back of his neck ever so slightly. His chin rested on her shoulder._

 _"Why don't you like hugging, Doctor?"_

 _"Never trust a hug. It's just a way to hide your face."_

He hid his face in his hands, feeling the dampness of his eyes on his fingers. He was saying goodbye to her there. They were in a coffee shop and they were saying goodbye. He had lied to her about finding Gallifrey.

Was it the last time he saw her? He couldn't really tell the order of the memories. He hoped it was the last time. That way he knew she was safe and living out her life. He didn't want to think of the possibility that something could have happened and…

He picked up the leaf that had fallen into his lap and started chewing it. The pain had returned suddenly. As he chewed he folded his arms over his chest again, wishing that the emptiness in him would just go away.

 _She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. He put his hand over her arm, holding it to him as a small smile crept over his face._

 _"I've missed you, Clara Oswald."_

 _"Oh, don't worry, daft old man." She let go of him, moving away from him. "I'm not going anywhere."_

 _He smiled at her then nodded to a lever which she flipped, sending the TARDIS into the vortex. The lights danced over him, the console, over every surface in the room, except where she stood. He looked at her, at the emptiness, his small smile quickly growing troubled and worried._

He rested his chin against his interlaced fingers, lips quivering against his thumbs. The room was blurred and distorted. When he blinked, he felt the warm tears glide down his cheeks. He was scared, filled with dread. He was terrified of losing her and he had. She wasn't with him and the only thing he had of her, his memories, were lost.

He let out a shaky breath and wiped at his eyes. He could add something to the short list of things he knew about her; He cared a lot about her.

* * *

 _This chapter was tricky to write. And in case you didn't catch that last part: yes, he remembered the name Clara Oswald in his memory, but no he forgot it as soon as the memory was over, hence only adding that he cared about her to his list :)_

 _Weird, I know, but I'm building up to something... it might take me a little while, so do you want me to tell you a story? (That was horrible, sorry)_


	7. Welcoming Arms

Chapter 7: Welcoming Arms

He's been hiding away in his room for almost two days now. Thinking up possibilities and theories of what happened to him, his memories and to her. The most plausible scenario he could come up with is that something very bad had happened to her and he couldn't deal with it, so he had taken all his memories of her and buried them far away. He wasn't good at dealing with loss, he never was, and forgetting altogether was indeed easier than trying to work through it all. Just like running away.

Lioma had come by once only to knock on the door, but left when she got no reply. He needed to get away from this place. He needed to get in his TARDIS and go search for the women in his memories. He cringed. He had to help Lioma first. H she won't refuse him this time.

She didn't. He had found her on the stairs, on her way to check on some of her patients or whatever she called them. Luckily, she didn't bring up the hugging thing and when he asked where the weapons were stored she led him straight to the basement.

"Some of them do work, so it shouldn't take too long," she said as he peered into one of the crates. "Unfortunately, I can't say which ones," she frowned

"I'll figure it out," he murmured. She nodded, looking at him as though she wanted to ask something then thought better of it and left him. Good.

He examined the blaster in his hands. Standard energy rifle, nothing fancy. Perhaps he could tinker with the output energy levels, bring them down to a non-lethal level, make them only able to stun the victims for a while. Probably not what Lioma wanted him to do, but he was not going to be the cause of death in their uprising.

If only he had his screwdriver. It had been taken from him when he arrived here. Locked up somewhere along with his TARDIS. Maybe it was on display in some trophy room. That would make it easier to find and then he could get off this planet. He knew he shouldn't have followed that signal here. Such an intriguing signal he had happened to stumble across. He had been so surprised by its appearance he hadn't concentrated enough as he followed it. Sure, he ended up where it was, but he was a little off. With a few years.

He had stumbled out of his TARDIS in search of the signal's origin and that's when everything just went wrong. If only he had concentrated. Focused. There was a tug at his memory.

"Attention deficit…" he tried. What was it called again? He shook his head and shrugged. Something or other. He tinkered away with the rifles, fixing those in need of repair and sabotaging all of them. Ok, not really sabotaging. Weaken? He could argue that he's enhancing them, just not as Lioma want.

After a few hours and almost blowing himself up with one of the rifles, he hadn't been paying attention and almost overloaded the power cell, he was finally done. Now to find Lioma and inform her that he completed his end of the deal.

Once again, he roamed the house, unable to find her. It was getting a bit old. Retiring to his room, he washed his hands and, realizing he didn't quite know how to spend his time now, decided on going back to the little library. On his way out his eyes landed on a book by his bedside table.

Where did that come from? He went and picked it up. It was small, the hard, black cover faded and scratched. The thick pages were a yellow-brown that came only with age. Just looking at it he could tell that it's been read quite a few times. He opened it, the spine crackling, and paged through it. A Jane Austen novel.

"Peculiar," he muttered. He paged back to the first page. The owner had scribbled her name on the yellow page. "Lioma Dawlscar," he read. What was he doing with her book? Then it occurred to him. What he had wrongly, and only momentarily, thought was going to be a hug, was just Lioma wanting to take the book from him and putting her other hand on his shoulder. He scowled. "Doctor Idiot indeed."

He walked down the corridor to the library, the name in the book he held waiting patiently at the back of his mind. Lioma and Alton's hushed voices immediately caught his attention as he entered the library. By the looks of it they were arguing. Lioma, her back towards the Doctor, was trying to make her point clear to Alton, raising her arms desperately by her side.

The Doctor froze. He blinked once and was transported back to that dark street. Trap street. Before him, alone, in the centre of the empty street stood a woman. Her dark brown hair hung loose, tips brushing her shoulders as she came to a standstill.

Further down the street, the cry of a raven travelled to his ears on the cold night air, making its presence known. The beating of feathered wings sliced through the quiet, carrying the black bird towards the woman.

Dread built up inside him, willing him to move, to do something. Anything. But it also kept him rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to close his eyes. Unable to look away.

The woman faced the raven, welcoming it with raised arms. He watched, unblinking, as the bird disappeared into her stomach with a flash of light.

A moment passed, the woman only swaying from the force. Then she screamed. It felt like an eternity. Her cry ripped through his hearts and stopped the blood in his veins. He's never felt so cold in his life.

He watched in horror as she went silent, black smoke billowing out of her mouth, disappearing into the dark sky. He regained control of his legs and quickly stepped forward as she started to fall, her body void of life. But his legs only carried him a single step.

He stared at her unmoving form, sprawled on the cobblestone street. She would have been looking up at the stars, had there been any and her eyes not fell shut. She had an almost serene expression, looking as though she were asleep. Indulging in a sleep she would never wake from.

He blinked, noticing Lioma crouched next to him. He had slid down against the wall, legs having been unable to support him. The book had fallen from his hands, lying forgotten at his feet. He could feel the approaching pain waiting to pounce on his mind. Lioma grabbed his shoulder tightly, prompting him to look at her.

"Doctor, listen to me," she began hurriedly.

But he didn't hear what she was saying, his mind already somewhere else.

"You," she stepped closer. "Now, you listen to me. You're going to be alone now, and you're very bad at that. You're going to be furious and you're going to be sad, but listen to me." She was out of breath, trying to get all the words out quickly. They have run out of time.

"Don't let this change you." He made to protest, but she wouldn't have it. "No, listen. Whatever happens next," she glanced back at Ashildr, "wherever she is sending you, I know what you're capable of." He waited for her to continue, her voice a whisper. "You don't be a warrior. Promise me. Be a Doctor."

"What's the point of being a Doctor if I can't cure you?"

"Heal yourself," she began. "You have to. You can't let this turn you into a monster. So, I'm not asking you for a promise, I'm giving you an order." He tried, but couldn't look her in the eyes any longer. He didn't accept this. "You will not insult my memory. There will be no revenge. I will die, and no one else, here or anywhere, will suffer."

"What about me?" he uttered softly.

She smiled sadly at him. "If there was something I could do about that, I would. I guess we're both just going to have to be brave." He looked away again, frowning, trying to find a way out of this even though he knew there was none.

He looked at Lioma, voice small, "Clara." She stared at him.

He felt Clara's arms around him pull back as the raven startled her.

"Don't run." It was more of a question. His smile was one filled with sorrow. "Stay with me."

She gave the tiniest of laughs. "Nah," she breathed, shaking her head determinedly. "You stay here. In the end, everybody does this alone."

"Clara…"

"This is as brave," tears filled her eyes once more, "as I know how to be."

He smiled. His Clara, always so brave.

"I know it's gonna hurt you but," she looked pleadingly at him. "Please, be a little proud of me," she whispered.

He felt her hand on his cheek, the last thing he heard the echoing call of the raven.

* * *

 _I do not need any nitpicking with this chapter. Yes, the memory is not in italics like those before it for a simple reason. Keyword "transported" at the start of it, meaning it's much more vivid/real to him. No, I used transcripts for the dialogue, but had to watch the scenes a couple of times to get the actions/expressions. Yes, it was horrible (I cried) and sorry if you feel attacked by this chapter. Like some of us feeling attacked by recent news regarding season 10 *sobs while sad music intensifies*_


	8. Plus-One

_Surprise! I'm not dead! Well, university is slowly killing me, among other things *stares at screen while eating an unhealthy amount of unhealthy food and refuses to exercise*_

 _Anyway, sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. And thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

Chapter 8: Plus-One

Lioma removed the needle from the Doctor's neck as his body went limp. She had no choice. This was the worst yet. She had feared he might start remembering while he was here. She had tried avoiding him whenever she could. Yet the times she was in his presence and his eyes clouded over with the familiarity of the past she knew he was remembering.

She wanted him to remember. She felt guilty for a long time after what happened with the neural block. As time passed though, she knew that there was a reason he was the one who forgot and not just because she tampered with the device.

 _"Look at you, with your eyes, and your never giving up, and your anger, and your kindness. One day, the memory of that will hurt so much that I won't be able to breathe, and I'll do what I always do. I'll get in my box and I'll run and I'll run, in case all the pain ever catches up. And every place I go, it will be there."_

He said that once, a very long time ago. And now here he was, the pain catching up anyway. She couldn't believe it when she saw him in those cells. He didn't belong there, especially not as a slave. He belonged in his box, among the stars, saving people and entire solar systems.

Were the circumstances any different she would have considered leaving him where he was. She knew how often he got into trouble and that he could find his way out again. Usually. A while back she had, accidentally, been in the same place as him. His smart mouth had gotten him locked up, but he easily escaped. This time though, she couldn't leave him. The thought never even occurred to her.

She sat in the chair next to his bed where he lay sleeping. Hopefully without the torment of old resurfacing memories. She really wanted him to remember, but how would he act if he knew who she was? They can't travel together anymore. She loved travelling with him, but it wasn't a good idea. Just look at how things ended up. No, even if he regained all his memories, she couldn't travel with him again. No matter how much she wanted to.

Maybe she didn't want him to remember at all. It would be better that way.

His eyes flitted open as he jerked awake. He didn't remember falling asleep, or even going to bed last night. So, what..?

"Good morning." Lioma's voice greeted him.

He turned and spotted her in the chair next to his bed. Maybe he should hide the chair, he didn't like being watched while he was sleeping. A bit creepy.

"How did I get here?" he grumbled, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Magic," she quipped. He only frowned at her, not finding it funny at all.

She saw his glare and decided now wasn't the time. "We carried you."

"We?" He didn't like being carried. "Why? What happened?"

"Me and Alton. Okay, mostly Alton." She narrowed her eyes. "You're deceptively heavy, do you know that?"

Muttering, the Doctor swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Lioma keeping her gaze focused on him.

"You still haven't answered my question," he looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come and he frowned. Last thing he remembered is going down to find her and then… nothing. He was growing tired of this memory of his. Maybe old age is finally catching up to him, he thought bitterly.

"It's alright," she said quickly, noting his irate expression. "It doesn't matter." Just one of the lies she kept telling herself.

"It matters to me. What happened?" His voice was cold. He was done acting nice.

Lioma regarded him, eyes not quite meeting his. She sighed, not really knowing how to go about this when he's clearly upset and fixated on getting an answer.

"Well?"

"You had some kind of attack," she lied, seeing his skeptical eyebrows rise. "Seeing as how you're recovering nicely, I'm guessing it's the Bitterweed." Would he buy it? "It's never happened before, but it's possible that your system reacts more drastically to it."

He stared at her. Did he believe her? She gave them those leaves, she could just as well have planned to poison him. Though, given how many times she could have done him harm, heck she could have just left him at the slave market, he didn't think she would resort to something as dull as poisoning him. It doesn't mean he trusts her yet, there's still something she's hiding from him and he intends to find out. Even the Bitterweed excuse, what else could it be, seemed entirely fabricated.

She took his silence as a sign of acceptance. He didn't believe her, she could tell. Why he didn't push for more information, she didn't know. She hoped he trusted her enough to help with the plan. Well, only way for her to know is to ask him.

"Listen," she said as he stood, following him. "I need your help."

"Again? Didn't I already do my part?"

"Last time, I promise." She waited for him to object, but he kept quiet. Possibly curiosity. "It's last resort, I wouldn't have asked you, but something happened and well, plans change. In a few days, there's going to be…" she searched her mind for the right word, "…an event at the palace."

He narrowed his eyes. Where was this heading?

* * *

"No," he said firmly. He looked at the small pin in her hands. The red triangular stone glimmered against the dark metal it was set in. It was beautiful in a warped and twisted way. He wagered that stone was mined by someone in one of the camps, could even have been him. He shook his head. No way was he going through with this.

Lioma held the pin tighter. "Please, I need your help."

"Not going to happen."

She held out the pin towards him. "If there was someone else I wouldn't be asking you now. But you're the only one. I can't do it alone."

He stared at the pin. Then at her, at those pleading eyes. Were they getting bigger? Seems like they're inflating. The longer he looked at those big eyes, the less he wanted to say no. He wanted to help. And if he helped, he could get away from this planet sooner.

"Fine," he grumbled. "You have your plus-one." This was a very bad idea.

Her face lit up immediately. "I know it's a lot I'm asking from you. Thank you." She handed him the pin.

Even though she had held it for a while it was still icy cold in his palm. He looked at it in disgust. This pin was their invitation to the ball held at the palace. Their entrance ticket. Those who mined this stone have never known luxury, never mind a ball where everyone attending is just basically bragging about their riches. Hopefully that will change soon.

"Oh, I almost forgot. You're going to need a formal attire," Lioma smiled at him.

He cringed.

* * *

 _Not my finest chapter, I know. I promise the last two (yes, only two remaining) will be better *laughs wickedly while disappearing into shadows*_


	9. Dance of Betrayal

_I'm not dead! Well, inside I am. Anyway, so sorry for the long wait, things just weren't so great at uni and then writer's block reared its ugly head...  
But now I'm back and I've got a crappy chapter for you :D (do not be fooled by the smile, I am dead inside)  
_

* * *

Chapter 9: Dance of Betrayal

He stood staring at his reflection. The black clothes Lioma had given him, by some wonder, hid how sickly thin he still was. He stood straighter. After this he can leave, so he might as well try to look respectable. He just hoped no one recognised him as a slave. That would most likely be the end of him.

He brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his shoulder and tugged at his sleeve. He just had to get through this night. Just hold out a little longer. He wondered where his TARDIS was being kept. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak off to go look for his blue box and fly away. With a last glance and a sigh, he turned and left his reflection.

"Do you have your pin?"

He looked up at Lioma. She was looking at him expectantly. He stared at her. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

"Oh, uh…" He searched his pockets, finally feeling the cold pin against his fingertips. He took it out and struggled to pin it onto his lapel, almost dropping it.

"Oh, come here," Lioma stepped up to him and attached the pin to the black material. "If all goes according to plan, this is your last night here."

The Doctor dragged his eyes away from the far corner to look down at her. "And if things don't go as planned?"

She smiled, stepping back to inspect her work. "Death is but the next great adventure," she said quietly, noticing his frown.

"Freedom or death? Seems a bit extreme," he replied.

* * *

The cold night breeze whipped at her dark blue dress as they made their way up the stairs to the palace entrance. Around them other guests dressed in expensive and flamboyant attires chatted joyously. The breeze carried their conversations and the Doctor scoffed at their chosen topics of wealth.

"Just try and behave," Lioma said next to him.

"You'd be surprised how often me trying to behave ends badly," he retorted and scowled at the couple in front of them.

They slowed as they reached the entrance, strolling along in a short queue. Four men in dark uniforms stood guard at the tall wooden doors, checking that each guest did indeed have their entrance pin.

The Doctor saw the men and stopped suddenly, memories of the work camps begging to flood his mind. One of the guards turned and noticed his stare.

"It's alright," Lioma whispered and hooked her arm around his, "they're part of the Royal Guard." He kept his gaze on the man and swallowed hard.

"Relax," she whispered again and led him forward. She nodded at the guard next to her who bowed his head.

"Terribly sorry for the wait, sir. Please, enjoy the evening."

The Doctor blinked. The guard on his right offered him an apologetic smile. He felt Lioma tug at his arm again and hesitantly followed her inside.

He hated to admit it, but the interior of the castle was rather elegantly decorated. The dimly lit foyer led to a large white staircase, splitting off to different parts of the castle. They could hear music from their left and followed the sounds through large wooden doors to were the main event was held. At the back of the room the small orchestra was performing on strange instruments, the soft melodies spreading through the circular hall. A few guests were on the dancefloor, gracefully moving around their partners and each other while the rest stood around the perimeter of the room, dining on fancy looking foods and talking to each other with wine glasses in hand.

The Doctor scowled at them all. He really didn't want to be here. He couldn't express how much he didn't want to be here.

"You're going to scare everyone away with that look."

He looked down at Lioma, a retort already forming.

"You don't have to say it, I know." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Just a little while, yeah?" He looked past her at the other guests and nodded slightly.

"We should probably have a go at dancing since you're physically unable to mingle with these people," she quipped as she took hold of his arm once more and dragged him to the centre of the room.

He started to protest but thought better of it when she shot him a look that would make anyone cower in fear. So, he let her pull him through the others until they reached an open spot where she turned to him expectantly.

He stared at her, slightly bewildered, unsure of what to do now. He glanced around him, somehow expecting an answer or maybe a sign that will help him.

Lioma sighed and placed her hand in his, the other on his shoulder. He awkwardly placed his hands and started to lead them in rhythm to the music. Luckily, he could still remember how to dance. He hoped. Well, he hasn't stepped on her feet or bumped into someone else. _Yet._

"There are two guards behind you by the door, and another one to your left." He kept his gaze just above her head as she scanned the area. They turned, offering her a view of the rest of the room. "One more next to the band," she noted as he quickly glanced at those she mentioned first.

"You missed one," he whispered.

"Sorry?"

He glanced at her. "By the door. There's three."

"Great. So that makes five just in this room. Not including those by the entrance and I won't even mention those wandering around the halls."

"It does seem to complicate things just a little bit." Their plan heavily relied on there not being this many guards.

Suddenly Lioma let go and stepped away from him. He looked at her questioningly. Instead of explaining, she turned and hurried from the dancefloor, leaving him puzzled. A couple next to him looked at him sympathetically and he scowled at them. They danced in the other direction.

He went in the direction Lioma had disappeared in. How did she manage to just vanish among everyone? He looked around, trying not to attract attention to himself and trying not to look like a fool.

He noticed one of the guards eyeing him suspiciously and nonchalantly changed course, slowly making his way to the double doors where they had come through. A voice inside him, one he hasn't heard in a while, woke up.

 _Time to leave._

There were more guests now. Hopefully he could slip by the guards unnoticed. He weaved through the people, getting closer to the door. Then he saw her.

 _Don't stop, keep walking._

She had the full attention of the guards by the doors.

 _Keep your head down, don't look. You should get out._

He stopped as she turned, eyes locking with his. He went cold. The guards started to turn.

 _Run._

Something inside him snapped. He broke into a sprint, charging forward directly to the guards. One reached for him, but he ducked underneath the outstretched hands and fled through the doors.

"Get him!"

The band faltered and a woman he passed screamed. The guards in the foyer stormed to secure his exit.

 _It's fine, work the problem. Find another exit._

He skidded around the corner, looking for any sign of another way out. The footsteps of his pursuers echoed off the white marble floors. He dared not look back. If they catch him, it's all over. They'd execute him for sure. If by some miracle they don't, he still wouldn't last long.

His hearts hammered in his chest and his lungs burned. How long before they catch up to him? He could feel himself slowing down already, he hasn't fully recovered yet and now he's struggling.

The shouting behind him grew louder, more frantic. Was he nearing an exit that they're getting worried? He risked a glance behind him.

As he looked backed a guard crashed into him from the side and they went down hard.

* * *

 _Told you it was a crappy chapter. But, hopefully, the next will be better. Maybe if they could just show season 10 in my country I could write more in character :) But that's not going to happen any time soon so sorry, but you're stuck with this._

 _Wow you're still reading this?_


	10. Revolt

_HOH back from the dead! Yes, I have returned from the dark recesses of my mind (one can enjoy the company of oneself for only so long)  
I'm kidding, I am amazing company. Just ask any of my alter ego's. Except that one, no not you, behind you. No, your other behind. Yes, you. Stop hiding, you little sh-  
_

* * *

Chapter 10: Revolt

That's not right. Why is the ceiling moving? Wait, was he being dragged?

The Doctor lifted his throbbing head up to look around him. Indeed, he was being dragged by the hem of his coat over the cold stone floor. Were they still in the castle? The walls and ceiling was stone as well, albeit cracked here and there. Underground? A basement? He heard the metallic clicking of a gate and his hearts stopped.

A prison. He could just as well wave goodbye to ever seeing the stars again. He's never getting out of this one.

He felt the hands by his neck suddenly jerk as he was thrown into the cell. He kept his body limp, rolling over the cold floor, hoping that the guards hadn't noticed that he was awake. The lock clicked in place and he waited a few seconds more, listening to the footsteps fading away before breathing a sigh of relief. They were leaving him alone for now.

Even though he was safe, if he could call it that, for the moment, he didn't stir. Eyes closed and cheek pressed against the floor, unmoving. The coldness slowly crept into his bones as the emptiness in him grew.

He was a fool for trusting her. That was usually one of his biggest problems. Trusting the wrong people. Was it because he tried seeing the good in others, or was he just an old fool. An idiot. Without his box. The emptiness gave way to something else. Something twisting inside his chest and making him even colder. Betrayal.

 _"Bring him back or I swear you will never step inside your TARDIS again."_

 _"No."_

 _"Do as you are told."_

 _"No."_

 _"Say it again so I know you mean it."_

 _"No!"_

 _"I'm not kidding, Doctor."_

 _"Neither am I."_

 _"I will do it!"_

He frowned, remembering that volcano. The boiling lava, the TARDIS, locked. The keys. It was fake, sure, but what was said wasn't and he could feel that betrayal again. The hurt. The pain.

Everywhere he went there was pain. How much of that pain did he cause? How many times was he responsible for the death of those he was trying to save? All that pain.

 _And what do you do with all that pain?_

You hold it tight.

 _Until it burns your hand._

He opened his eyes. He grunted, lifted himself off the floor and turned to the steel door.

"Not on my watch," he whispered. Standing in front of the door he realised he had no plan for getting out of here. There wasn't a lock he could pick this time. He placed his hands on the door. He had done it before, but that was a wooden door. How much different was a metal door? Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the metal and concentrated. His frown deepened as he tried reaching out with his mind.

Concentrating so hard, he almost missed the click the door made. He stood back, surprised that it had worked at all. Though his face fell when the door opened.

"Ah, I found you." Lioma said too cheerfully for his liking and started off down the hall. He remained inside the cell.

"Why did you come back for me?"

Lioma stopped, slowly turning to him. "Sorry?"

"Back there, you betrayed me," he stated with a calm, cold voice. Lioma wordlessly held out her hand. He frowned, seeing his sonic in her palm.

"I needed a distraction."

He snatched the sonic from her, examining it. "You could have let me in on your plan," he snapped.

"I needed to make it look convincing and, in all honesty, you don't look like a good actor." He glared at her. "Look, I'm sorry. But it was necessary. You said we'd need that, so let's get on with it then." She motioned for him to follow and, hesitantly, he did.

"Right, so the entrance for the tunnel we're looking for should be one level down," Lioma explained as she led the way.

The dull boom of an explosion echoed through the hall, the ground beneath their feet shaking ever so slightly. Another explosion went off, its sound drowned out by the wail of an alarm.

"And that would be the start of the revolution," she commented.

* * *

 _"So, once we find the tunnel entry, we can get the men inside the castle. While the guards are kept busy by those outside, Alton and the others can surprise them from the rear."_

 _"What if you can't get the tunnel open?" Alton rubbed his chin. "We'd be stuck in the tunnels and the plan will fail."_

 _The Doctor creased his brow. "I might be able to bypass the security, though it would be much easier with my sonic."_

 _"Your what?"_

 _"Sonic screwdriver. Neat little thing," he smiled. "It was taken from me when they captured me though."_

 _"I think it might still be in the castle somewhere. Those bunch love their trinkets and trophies. I doubt they'll dispose of Time Lord technology." The Doctor stared at Lioma._

 _"Alright, we'll give you an hour. Hopefully you'll have the entrance open then."  
_

* * *

"Did you see my TARDIS?"

Lioma felt around in the dark room, glancing quickly at the Doctor. "Sorry what?"

"Big blue box? Did you see it when you went looking for my sonic?" It felt good to have his sonic back in his hand, all he needed now was his TARDIS. He moved his sonic over the floor, enjoying the whirring sound it made.

"Uh, yeah." She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. "I'll, take you to it once we- "

"Found it," he said casually. Lioma walked over to him. "Told you it's a neat little thing," he held up his sonic and grinned at her.

"Great," she crouched next to him and traced the indistinct grooves of the hatch in the floor. "How do we open it?"

The Doctor slid his hands over the cover, muttering softly to himself. His hand stopped at a spot, and he pointed his sonic at it. The blue light lit up the grey metal, and seconds later the hatch slid down and to the side, revealing the dark tunnel.

A light flickered on at the bottom, shining into their eyes. They stood, watching as Alton climbed up and out of the tunnel, the others following him one by one.

"We were beginning to think you weren't going to show," Alton smirked at them.

The first thing they noticed as they made their way up to the fight was the smoke and dust. Barely noticeable at first, now it hung thick, impairing their vision. The second, was that the inside of the palace resembled a war zone. Crumbled stone and concrete littered the floor, broken glass and dust covering it all. The shouts and sounds of gunfire could be heard clearly now, the alarm having gone silent a while ago as the power went out, emergency lights at their feet showing the way.

"I'll be with you shortly, Alton."

"Where are you going?" He frowned questioningly.

"I need to take care of something," Lioma whispered. Alton remained quiet, then gave a short nod.

The Doctor raised his brow as Lioma turned to him, Alton and the others disappearing through the smoke and dust.

"Come on." Keeping low, she led him back the way they came. The smoke cleared and it became quieter the further away from the battle they went. They passed the hall to the lower levels, following a new path now. "It should be up ahead," she said rounding a corner. Before he could follow she pushed him back and crouched, placing a finger over her lips.

Slowly, she peeked around the corner. The guards she had seen were gone. She motioned for the Doctor to follow her, quickly running halfway down the hall and entering a large open room.

"As promised, Doctor." They went to the back of the room, passing all sorts of trophies and trinkets and stopped in front of a big blue box.

"My TARDIS," he whispered, placing a hand against the wood.

"Thank you, Doctor. For your help."

He didn't respond, still focusing on his TARDIS. Oh, how he had missed his box. His fingers traced the handle before closing around it. "I suppose I should thank you as well," he said curtly and turned only to find the emptiness stare back at him.

* * *

Lioma hurried down the corridor, trying not think about leaving him behind. Again. The first time was bad enough, she didn't want to go through it again. But she had kept her promise, she had helped him to find his TARDIS again. Hopefully he would just get in and fly off to his next adventure. It won't be the first time he leaves in the middle of something. He already did his part, there was nothing left for him here.

The smoke filled her nostrils and brought her back to the present. This fight was still not over. She slowed down, careful of what could be waiting right in front of her, obscured by the dust and smoke. It didn't help that the emergency lights had gone out as well, the only light the soft orange glow of a fire somewhere.

She passed the point where she had last seen Alton and the others, following a trail of debris barely visible through the smoke. She kept low, feeling the irritation in her lungs and coughed. Hearing shouts she changed course, following the sounds of struggle and blasters firing. She coughed again. The smoke was very thick now, forming a dense blanket and spreading the orange glow all around her.

The others were close, their muffled shouts somewhere just up ahead. She pressed on, careful of all the debris at her feet. She could hear Alton's voice more clearly now so, where was he? Another coughing fit made her stop, leaning against the wall for support. Was it the lack of oxygen, or was she hearing…?

Her head snapped up. The rumbling grew louder before the ceiling gave way with a groan and a crack, weakened by the fire eating away at it from above.

* * *

 _WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE oh wait it's you. I promise the final chapter will be out only next month wait what_

 _KIDDING_

 _It's more of an epilogue._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _nah it's the final chapter and I'll try to have it up by next week... *laughs in German*_


	11. Only A Memory

_So... we meet again...  
I feel like I should mention I got some extra help (editing) from my good, and slightly creepy, friend (if you can call it that) ThisUserOverHere. No, I'm not referring to one of my personalities... You can go check out their profile, I'm not crazy.  
Now, as promised, the last chapter to this story that took almost a year to finish because I am a lazy piece of sh-  
_

* * *

Chapter 11: Only a Memory

Her head was pounding, her lungs burning. It was quiet, the smell of ash and dust hung heavy in the warm air. Every part of her was sore and complained against the tiniest movement. She cracked open her eyes, grimacing as they stung, feeling like she had cried tears of sand and gravel. She struggled to focus on the dark figure crouched beside her. Slowly, the figure took shape as her vision cleared.

She tried speaking, but only managed a nasty cough, throat raw from the smoke. The figure tensed, then turned around.

"That was stupid stunt you pulled there," the Doctor said sternly, though concern etched his features. "Running into the smoke like that, you could have suffocated."

"But I didn't," she managed hoarsely.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "because the ceiling almost crushed you." He glared at her as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Good thing I pushed you out of the way then. You're lucky I came back."

"And why did you come back?" She coughed again as she got up on shaking legs. "You could have taken off, it's what you've been wanting this whole time, isn't it?"

He stood up next to her, eyes searching hers. He sighed. "I had to make sure you were alright."

She gave a small smile, "I am, thanks to you. Now, go on. Get in your box and," she took a breath, "go have another adventure." She gave him one last smile before turning away, breaking their brief eye contact.

"Our last hurrah," he said quietly.

She stopped, her heart dropping like a stone. _Of course._ She kept her back to him, trying to find the courage to face him.

"Lioma, Dawlscar," he formed each word carefully, thinking it over. "That's the problem with living... _indefinitely._ Somewhere down the line, you start losing yourself bit by bit, forgetting who you are, who you once were." She swallowed, waiting for him to continue. "We sometimes have to remind ourselves who we are." He remained quiet for a moment before continuing, "Even a simple anagram scratched into a favourite book can act as a reminder."

Clara turned to him, tears threatening to spill when she saw the glisten in his eyes.

"Gotcha," he whispered eliciting a smile from her. He frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"The sad smile. It's like you're malfunctioning."

She tried to stifle her laugh, tears finally rolling down her cheeks. Malfunctioning indeed.

"Clara, please. Don't be lasagne," he grinned and she laughed.

"Oh, shut up you old stick insect," she mumbled.

He pointed at her, "Right, that wasn't even funny. That was bantering, I am totally against bantering!" He laughed and she joined in, but it soon died away. "Clara, I'm sorry."

"For what?" She frowned, genuinely not knowing why he was apologising. "What happened, it wasn't your fault. I never thought it would turn out this way but," she racked her brain for the right words. "What happened, happened. We can't change that, and I'm fine with that." She broke eye contact, "I'm going back to Gallifrey, the long way round. And until then, I'll be doing what I've done for quite some time; save people."

"You'd make a mighty fine Doctor," he said quietly. "Well," he began, faking a cheerful demeanour. "I mean, it's not like I'm never going to see you again."

"Isn't it?"

"It is? I mean, you're going to come around for dinner or something aren't you." He frowned, "Ah, or you know, I could pop by. Seeing as you live in a diner," his grin faltered. "Do, do you still do that? Do you still have dinner with people?" He eyed her curiously.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"Don't know, you might find it boring."

"Is it boring?"

He laughed, "I have no idea." They looked at each other, exchanging last smiles. Sad smiles. He bowed his head, "To the last hurrah."

"The last hurrah," she whispered.

* * *

"So, he knew it was you?" Me asked while flipping levers on the console.

"Yeah, he figured it out." Clara walked up to the bright console, fiddling with a knob.

"Or," Me began, "that neural block is failing." She glanced at Clara. "And that's not really a good thing."

Clara sighed deeply. "Who's to say it's such a bad thing?"

"Clara…"

She held up her hands. "Fine, alright. Just, don't remind me." She started punching in coordinates, trying to avoid Me's eyes. "He won't remember this anyway. Only that he helped the oppressed to topple their cruel regime. The rest will just be… a memory."

"How sure are you that he'll forget?"

Clara gripped the dematerialization lever tightly, speaking softly, "Because he forgot all the other times."

* * *

 _ooo-weee-ooooooooo eee-yoo-ooooooooo_

 _*hides behind laptop* Still here are we?_  
 _Anyway, that's it. Please review and tell me what you think. And thanks to everyone who reviewed/fav'd/followed this story so far, it was a horrible pleasure writing it :)_  
 _But now, Imma take a break, so see you whenever._

 _*mic drop*_

 _ThatUserOverThere out_


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